


Colorful

by nightbirdrises



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:24:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is twenty-three and (sort of) (kind of) happily married. However, complications arise in the form of his former art teacher, who taught him at Dalton when he was seventeen, and who is the only person that has ever given Blaine's life true color.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colorful

**Author's Note:**

> I kept the rating to M since the scenes in question aren't terribly explicit - but consider it a hard M.
> 
> warnings: infidelity, mention of minor character death, small age difference (5 years), Blaine/OC though the dude isn't at all portrayed really - this was done for a song prompt, and the song is [The Art Teacher](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/rufuswainwright/theartteacher.html) by Rufus Wainwright, you can find the tumblr post [here](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/post/74108885092).

Blaine is happy, for lack of a better term. He’s about to move into a nice, luxurious home with his new husband, the head of a big company that Blaine still doesn’t quite understand. But it’s okay because the guy, Daniel, makes him happy.

For lack of a better term.

He’s sitting on the counter in the tiny kitchen of their soon-to-be-someone-else’s home. In his hand is a green Post-It note that reads,  _the guy’s coming over to look at the place today, sorry I can’t be there to meet him with you - big meeting at noon. let me know how it goes, okay babe? love, Dan_  

Blaine doesn’t even know the name of the person that’s coming over to look at the house before making a solid decision on whether or not to buy it. Daniel has taken care of the entire mess, assuring Blaine that he doesn’t have to lift a finger at anything regarding the sale of their small, lived-in house near Columbus. It’s a nice enough gesture, but Blaine wishes he could have had some say in the whos and hows of it all.

The guy isn’t supposed to come over until noon and it’s only eleven, so Blaine decides he could do some tidying up while he waits. He slides off the counter and grabs his phone to play some good old 80’s hits. Daniel prefers 90’s pop, and Blaine thinks that’s just fine, but he never gets the chance to listen to his 80’s playlist anymore. And he spent, like,  _two days_ putting that together when he was in eleventh grade — he’s not about to waste all that effort.

Speaking of eleventh grade…

He glances at the single frame left on the wall in their living room. It’s a piece of art by J. M. W. Turner — well, a copy of a piece of art — and Blaine knows its title is [The Lowerzer See](http://www.william-turner.org/186963/The-Lowerzer-See-large.jpg). Daniel doesn’t particularly want to take it with them; it holds no meaning to him, try as Blaine might to convince him otherwise. And it makes sense because, really, the only reason Blaine wants to keep it in the first place is something he can’t and won’t ever tell his dear husband.

In eleventh grade, he took an art class at Dalton Academy. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do; to graduate, an arts-based class was required, and the Warblers didn’t exactly qualify as a class. He planned to have some fun with it and finish his projects on time and move on after the year ended. He didn’t plan to fall head over heels for the teacher.

Mr. Hummel had been a prime example of everything Dalton wasn’t, and Blaine found it weirdly refreshing. He loved Dalton to death, but somehow that man was far more interesting than the uniforms and grand, spiraling staircases. Inside the classroom, he wore plain t-shirts and jeans that were always stained with paint and charcoal. Even his hair usually ended up streaked in vibrant hues. Outside the classroom, his eye for color spread to his wardrobe — Mr. Hummel never failed to stand out among the uniforms and the drab business wear of his colleagues.

The other thing that made him stand out was his age. Mr. Hummel was only in his early twenties, whereas most of the teachers at Dalton were age thirty-five and up. So it wasn’t like Blaine could really help but stare and stutter and hang on to every single word Mr. Hummel spoke. He was certain that the very existence of his art teacher was a work of art in itself — his voice was music, his movements a dance (even when he tripped over that one stool, twice), his body a sculpture, and his eyes a painting.

So, yeah. Blaine had it embarrassingly  _bad_  for his eleventh-grade art teacher. And the reason he has a Turner piece up in his house is because he’s one of Mr. Hummel’s favorite artists. The reason the piece is The Lowerzer See is because the colors remind him of Mr. Hummel’s eyes. Daniel is a good guy, but Blaine’s sure he wouldn’t like it if he knew there was a painting in their house purely because of his “crush” on an old teacher.

At the time he’d thought it was actually love, but now Blaine isn’t sure. He was young, right? Too young to know what love is and all that.

(He knows for a fact that what he has with Daniel isn’t love, at least not for him. It’s the closest he’s managed, though, and Blaine really does like sharing his life with someone. He’s never been very good at being alone, as terrible as that sounds.)

Blaine fixes the painting (it was a little off-kilter) and sets about clearing magazines and newspapers off the coffee table. It’s only then that he hears the doorbell ring — it makes him jump, so lost in his head and music he is, and he hurries to the door and opens it.

"Welcome, you must be here to see—" Blaine stops, staring at the man on the other side. "Oh my god."

"Kurt Hummel," the man says, holding out his hand and smiling a little wearily. "I know I’m not supposed to be here until noon, but I had the time wrong earlier this morning and ended up getting here from Lima at ten. I ran out of ways to occupy my time."

Blaine nods along as he shakes Kurt’s hand, struck dumb by the sudden appearance of one of his high school teachers. The one he had a thing for. And, well. It’s painfully clear to him that none of his seventeen year-old self’s feelings have changed even at age twenty-three.

They stand there for a moment until Blaine regains control of his speech and says, “Come on in, sorry, it probably helps to be inside the house if you’re planning on looking at it.”

"Probably," Kurt says in that cheeky way he always used to respond to his students. He didn’t have any barriers — he was free of speech and mind and made sure everyone knew it. As a result, he alienated some of the more rule-bound students, but he forged genuine friendships with others. One of these others was Blaine, who, when he managed to keep his infatuation under control, thoroughly enjoyed talking to Mr. Hummel — Kurt — about everything and anything.

"Do you, uh, want anything to drink?" Blaine asks, kicking himself internally for staring too much. "Our fridge is pretty much stocked at the moment, I don’t know why considering we’re making the move next week."

"Just water, if that’s okay." Blaine nods and steps into the kitchen to grab a glass. Kurt leans his elbows on the bar that separates the kitchen and the living room and watches him. "Where are you boys going?"

"New York," Blaine mumbles. "Daniel got a promotion and a new office in the city, so we bought a nice place there."

"Ah. I always used to dream of living there."

"What happened?" Blaine slides the glass across the bar to Kurt, thankfully without spilling a drop.

"Life happened," Kurt says wryly. "Thanks."

"Do you still want to live there?"

"Now? Yeah, I think I do." Kurt stares down at his water and Blaine honestly can’t breathe for a good two seconds. This man is still as breathtaking as he was six years ago, maybe even more so. "I really shouldn’t tell you this."

"You don’t have to tell me a thing."

"Well, call me crazy but I like you already," Kurt says, looking back up. "So I’ll spill. I’m _here_  because I can’t stand living at home anymore. I’m that loser that stayed home to live with his dad after graduating high school and just… never left. There, they call people like me ‘Lima losers.’”

"There’s nothing wrong with that," Blaine says.

"Considering I stayed to keep an eye on his health, I agree. Besides, I didn’t have the money to move anywhere spectacular like New York City, nor did I get accepted to any fantastic schools. I went to Lima Community College and ended up pursuing art." Kurt chuckles. "I was more of a performer before that, but I don’t know. Painting was the only way I could express myself in that town without endangering myself."

"But you’re moving."

Kurt glances back down at the now half-empty glass in his hand. Blaine wonders if he sees it half-full — the Mr. Hummel he knew would. “Dad’s gone. There’s nothing tying me to Lima anymore and the house is just full of memories I can’t deal with right now.”

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—"

"Hey," Kurt says, interrupting him. "Don’t worry about it, you’re fine. I’ll be fine, too, and moving here is the first step to getting there."

"It’s no New York," Blaine says, mostly to draw the conversation away from something that Kurt, no matter what he says, is still sensitive towards. "Think you’ll ever end up there?"

"Ideally, yes. Realistically, no. I don’t even have a job right now."

Blaine’s eyes widen. “What happened to Dalton?”

Kurt tilts his head, looking at him with some confusion. “I don’t remember saying anything about Dalton.”

"Oh— I, uh, I." Blaine sighs; there’s no point avoiding this now. "I was one of your students a while back."

It’s Kurt’s turn to stare wide-eyed. “Really? Wait, don’t move.”

Blaine freezes, a little absurdly as he’d been reaching for Kurt’s empty glass to refill it. Kurt makes eye contact with him — his eyes are still that ocean’s spectrum of blues and greens and greys — and Blaine finds himself feeling warm under the collar.

God, he’s  _married_. But Kurt, he’s beautiful.

He’s also looking right into Blaine’s very soul, or at least that’s what it feels like. It’s a very piercing sort of look, but not uncomfortable.

"Oh my god. Blaine, right?" Kurt asks, and he nods. "Blaine…"

"Johnson."

Kurt frowns. “Anderson, wasn’t it? Before you got married?”

"Yeah. We thought hyphenating our names didn’t sound right since they both end in the same three letters. Anderson-Johnson. Johnson-Anderson."

"Hm. Well, I do remember you. Very clearly, now that I actually pay attention."

"Seriously?" Some of his excitement accidentally bleeds through to his demeanor and Blaine grins. "It was a long time ago."

"I always remember my favorite students." Kurt’s smiling now, wide and genuine, and Blaine feels like he could look at that every day and never grow tired of it. It’s not exactly a good thought for a married man to have. "Besides, I’m only twenty-eight, I haven’t started losing my memory yet."

"Wait, that means you were twenty…"

"When I had you in my class? Twenty-two. My second year of teaching out of a grand, staggering total of five. I wasn’t ever meant to stay long; they had trouble finding a ‘qualified’ candidate to teach art, so I acted as a filler."

"Oh. I never knew that."

"Hey, it paid the bills. I want to talk about  _you_ , though.”

"What? But… the house…"

"Screw the house. I want to hear how one of my favorite students has been since he walked out of my classroom for the last time looking like he wanted to say something incredibly important to me."

Blaine swallows; he remembers planning to confess his feelings to Kurt on the last day of school. He’d chickened out, of course — even with a whole summer between then and the first day of senior year, he couldn’t have been sure that things would have been normal after that.

Kurt cocks an eyebrow at him and props his chin up on his hands. “Should I give you a starting point?”

"Please."

"Your husband. How did you come to be married so soon?"

"Oh." Blaine finally takes the glass from Kurt and moves to refill it, but stops when Kurt waves him down. "It’s not a very exciting story."

"Oh, come on. Give me something."

"Alright. Uh, I met him two years ago when I went with my dad to some important gathering with important people and we started up a conversation since we were the only two guys under the age of thirty there."

"Ooh, but is he still older?" Kurt asks with a wink. Blaine can’t help but laugh.

"Two years isn’t much of an age difference. Anyway, we exchanged numbers and eventually friendship turned into a relationship and things… took their course," Blaine finishes lamely.

"You must really love him."

"Hm?"

"Well, to get married at your age, there must be something big between the two of you."

Blaine shrugs — and knows it looks horrible, but he doesn’t really want to lie, either. It’s true that he and Daniel had been ecstatic when Ohio passed its marriage equality amendment last year, and it’s true that that may have spurred Blaine into  _wanting_  to get married. Having a man get down on one knee in front of him and ask him for his hand in marriage… it felt amazing. For that moment, he actually did feel like he was in love.

He now knows without a doubt that he’s never felt as strongly for Daniel as he feels right now in front of Kurt, and it’s a little bit terrifying. One, he’s married happily enough. Two, Kurt was at one point his teacher. Three, he’s fucking  _married_.

"Or not?" Blaine snaps back to attention to look at Kurt, who’s standing up straight and watching Blaine with perceptive eyes. "You don’t seem particularly enthusiastic about this topic."

"I’m happy," Blaine says, perhaps a little too forcefully. "That’s the important thing, isn’t it?"

"I suppose," Kurt says after a brief pause. "Do you mind giving me a quick tour? I should probably have seen at least some of the house when I move in."

"It’s a done deal, huh?"

"Most likely. If you tell me there are ghosts, then I’m going to sprint out that door screaming my head off and I won’t ever come back no matter how cute you may be."

"I— Oh, well. Uh. I wouldn’t blame you," Blaine says sheepishly, sure he’s blushing. "No ghosts, I promise."

"Good. After you, Mr. Anderson."

Blaine raises an eyebrow as he starts to lead Kurt into the hallway that branches off into the bedrooms and bathroom. “Mr. Johnson, actually.”

"I’m afraid I prefer the name Anderson. ‘Son of Andrew;’ loosely means ‘son of courage,’ if you think about it," Kurt hums. "It’s a bummer you didn’t keep it in some capacity."

"It’s a common name, it’s no loss, really."

"Mm. Not much color in here, is there?"

"Unfortunately not. We’ve never had the time to repaint. I guess it’s a good thing that it’s you moving in, right?"

"I guess so. There’s potential in everything, even a drab little house like yours. No offense."

"None taken, I agree completely."

Blaine shows him the guest room, the bathroom, and the bedroom, a little proud that everything is so clean. He and Daniel aren’t the best at keeping things in tip-top shape despite their general aversion to messiness. He also shows Kurt the shower, and Kurt offhandedly notes its generous size with what Blaine imagines is a pointed look. He probably only imagines it.

"And, well, you’ve already seen it, but this is the living room," Blaine says with a vague gesture. "Also drab, but comfy."

"That’s a Turner painting." Before Blaine registers anything, Kurt’s making a beeline for the wall where the painting hangs. Blaine follows him, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying to come up with a viable reason why he has art by one of Kurt’s favorite artists in his house. "The Lowerzer See."

"That’s the one."

"Huh. I’d almost think you have this because of how often I waxed poetic about his use of color to you," Kurt says with a grin. "This isn’t exactly one of my favorite pieces, I prefer warm tones, but—"

"Your eyes," Blaine blurts out, and Kurt turns to look at him. Damn it.

"Come again?"

"Uh. It’s— The painting has the colors of your eyes," Blaine says quietly. "I  _did_  get it because of you.”

"You had a crush on me six years ago," Kurt says matter-of-factly, without warning, and Blaine nods helplessly. "And now?"

"Now?"

Kurt turns around completely and leans against the wall next to the picture. He crosses his arms and nods to Blaine. “Let’s put everything on the table where we both can see it, shall we?”

"Mr. Hu— Kurt?"

"I guess I’m going first. I liked you a lot when I was your teacher. I liked talking to you way more than any instructor should enjoy just the presence of one of his students, and if we’d had more time together, I’d have cracked. Your turn."

"Oh. Well, yes. I do still like you. I… wouldn’t call it a crush, necessarily."

Kurt bites his lip; it’s the first time Blaine’s seen him appear…  _young_ , he guesses is the right word. Kurt’s always been this attractive, slightly mysterious and interesting older man, but suddenly he’s right on par with Blaine, looking just as unsure as Blaine feels.

"I remembered you by your eyes," Kurt says next, and Blaine stares at him. "Don’t look so surprised. You know how much I love colors, Blaine, and I couldn’t ever forget the color of your eyes. Warm and sweet, like you."

"I—"

Kurt steps away from the wall and towards Blaine, who remains rooted to the spot as his former teacher comes close enough for him to detect the spearmint on his breath.

"You don’t love him," Kurt says, and it’s a statement of fact. Blaine shakes his head anyway. "Tell me to stop."

"I can’t do that," Blaine mutters.

"Why not?"

"Because I don’t want you to stop." Kurt lets out a puff of breath and starts to move away, but Blaine — because they’re leaving everything on the table now, anyway — grabs his waist to stop him and leans up into a searing kiss.

It’s more than he could possibly have expected. Kurt’s lips are soft under his after the initial surprise fades away, and Blaine takes his chances with pulling them flush together, a little shocked when Kurt doesn’t resist. He’s shocked enough to break the kiss and tip their foreheads together, taking deep breaths and trying not to think about the ring on his finger — the metal almost seems to burn.

"I know you don’t love him, but you’re married," Kurt says, his breath skating warm across Blaine’s skin. "I don’t want to make a cheater out of you."

"Too late," Blaine mutters. "I’ve kind of been cheating on him emotionally since the beginning, anyway."

"But is it worth going further?"

"I’m moving to New York City," Blaine says. "You’ll be here, and we’ll probably never meet again."

"That’s not a yes or no, Blaine."

"It’s a  _hell_  yes, because I can’t let you go now knowing how you feel and knowing that this opportunity will never come up again. Please, Kurt, just give me this.”

"Fine," Kurt says. "On one condition."

"Anything."

"Take your ring off. I’ll just feel worse seeing it there if we’re really going to do this."

Blaine lets go of Kurt to do just that, neither of them breaking eye contact. He frowns slightly. “I don’t, um, you don’t have to do this, you know.”

"No, I do." Kurt watches him as Blaine finally looks away, walking off to place the ring on the kitchen counter. "I could have found you the next year, after you would have turned eighteen. I planned to wait for the right time."

"You were waiting for me?" Blaine asks as he returns. Without the ring, he feels more daring, more like he can just do what he wants — which may not be what’s right in this case.

"That was the idea. But I disillusioned myself to you, kept telling myself that you were still too young and that someone from Dalton would find out and get me fired whether you were still there or not. By the time I had to bow out, you were just a fond memory that I barely regretted moving on from."

"Oh."

"Hold on, I’m not done." Kurt reaches for Blaine, his hands falling on his arms just below his shoulders and taking hold. "Walking away from you now? The regret would be  _so much_ worse than the guilt.”

"Oh. Well, you’re here, and I’m here," Blaine says slowly. "We’re both staying."

"For now."

"Right, yeah. So you should kiss me."

Kurt smiles, bright, and lets them fall into each other again, his hands dropping from Blaine’s arms to his torso, then to his waist. Blaine reaches up and grasps at the back of Kurt’s neck, urging him deeper. Blaine gasps when Kurt reaches around and takes his ass in hand, shoving their hips together sharply.

"Call me a pervert," Kurt pants between kisses, "but I’ve been wanting to do that since I first realized the kind of ass you have."

"And when was that?"

"I’d hazard a guess at the second week of school that year."

"Oh my god."

"It’s probably a good thing I never saw you in casual dress," Kurt continues, abandoning Blaine’s lips to leave open-mouthed kisses along his jawline. "I’m not sure I could have kept my interest a secret if you’d worn pants like  _these_  in front of me.”

"Used to wear tighter pants, actually, in brighter colors too," Blaine says, voice edging higher when Kurt’s tongue runs just under the line of his jaw. "Dan— Daniel isn’t a fan, thinks it’s unprofessional."

"That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard," Kurt says in a low voice. "Forgive me, but that guy has the worst taste of any gay man I’ve ever met."

"Hey, he picked me."

"And you’re the single most tasteful choice he’s ever made, from what I’ve seen. Too bad he doesn’t…" Kurt trails off to tug Blaine’s shirt out of his waistband.

"Doesn’t what?"

"Don’t make me say it, Blaine," Kurt groans. "Couch, come on, being vertical is not ideal right now."

"No, tell me," Blaine says even as he follows Kurt to the couch — another item that’s staying here, soon to be another memory he won’t bring with him to the big city. But maybe that’s for the best, all things considered.

Kurt remains silent, lying down on the couch and tugging Blaine on top of him. Blaine can’t resist kissing him then, rearranging his legs to better straddle Kurt’s waist. At this point, there’s no denying that they’re both deeply interested; Blaine’s tempted to undo his own pants just to ease some pressure off. There’s one thing to get out of the way first, though.

"Tell me," he says again, finding Kurt’s hands and lacing their fingers together before pressing them into the couch cushions on either side of Kurt’s head. "I’m not your seventeen year-old student anymore. Please?"

It almost seems like Kurt will refuse — and Blaine would let him, despite overwhelming curiosity. There are more important things at hand. But Kurt inhales a sharp breath and nods.

"He doesn’t deserve you."

Blaine blinks; he hadn’t been expecting that. “What?”

"I don’t either, by the way." Kurt’s body shifts underneath him, their hands still locked. "Blaine, you’re — I don’t know, you’re bursting with all this color and emotion, and you’re here in this boring house, married to possibly the most boring man I’ve ever had to converse with. Nice, but colorless."

"I’m happy enough."

Kurt laughs. “Then what are you doing right now?”

"Being happier," Blaine says, kissing Kurt with everything he has, "while I can."

"I was right," Kurt mumbles when they part, after Blaine’s shifted himself up to finally undo his and Kurt’s pants. "Your mouth looks amazing after you’ve been kissed."

Blaine grins, getting off Kurt just long enough to strip his pants off entirely, leaving them on the floor when he goes to pull Kurt’s off as well. Kurt’s wearing black boxer briefs that cling to his skin, his cock a hard, clear line beneath the fabric. Blaine swallows, wishing he could blow him — but the condoms are in the bedroom, too far away to even consider getting right now.

"You have no idea how glad I am that you’re in your twenties," Kurt says as soon as Blaine has settled himself back on top of him. "Figures. Six years ago, you were too young. I finally meet you again and you’re married. The world is clearly against me."

"The only person ‘against you’ right now is me," Blaine says, dropping to his elbows — one precariously at the edge of the couch, the other somewhat squished into the back of it, but it’s enough — and rolling his hips, dragging their cocks together. " _God_ , and I don’t know about you, but it feels good.”

"I’ll forgive you for the stupid pun as long as you keep doing that, fuck, Blaine."

"Haven’t you heard? Puns are in right now. Just like I wish you could be in—" Kurt grunts, tugging Blaine down for an off-center kiss and rather effectively shutting him up. "Fine, okay, no more."

"Good boy."

Blaine picks up the pace as Kurt’s hands rove across his back, pulling his shirt up and fisting the fabric. With one hand, he rucks Kurt’s shirt up as well, marveling at the warmth of Kurt’s skin under his palm, a bit sweaty and a lot perfect.

Sex with his own husband is nowhere near this in terms of intensity. It’s good, but it’s lacking. Lacking  _color_ , now that he thinks about it, even using his Kurt-driven mind. Lacking that final connection that makes love what it is — the passionate reds, the soaring, delighted yellows, the muted blues, and everything in between.

Blaine doesn’t notice that Kurt’s hand is between them until he looks and finds Kurt struggling to drag the waistband of his briefs down as he moves; Blaine stills and Kurt huffs out a laugh as he finally gets the band tucked under Blaine’s balls. Kurt does the same to himself, then takes them both in hand at once.

"Better?" he asks, and Blaine nods, closing his eyes. "No, look at me."

Blaine opens them again and does as Kurt asks, surprised at the tenderness in Kurt’s expression along with the near-the-edge strain evident in the give and pull of his muscles underneath Blaine.

"Just wanted to be able to see your eyes," he explains, breathless. Blaine looks into Kurt’s, which are dark with arousal but he can still find the color there, even more strikingly blue in contrast. "God."

"Let me," Blaine says, and Kurt allows his hand to replace his own. It’s a wide grip, but he manages, and Kurt’s hips jump underneath him. "Come on."

“ _Shit_ , oh my god,” Kurt swears; he continues swearing under his breath, phrases interspersed with Blaine’s name, until he comes with a relatively quiet moan, hips bucking and pushing his cock into Blaine’s. Watching Kurt and the extra friction drives Blaine over the edge soon after — he’s louder, louder than he usually is, in fact, but he doesn’t notice through the sparking pleasure in his brain and nerves.

They’re kind of a mess, Blaine observes passively once he can form coherent thoughts again. He’ll need to change his shirt… Kurt might have to borrow a shirt from him, something that won’t be missed. Because, this? Never happening again. Blaine’s just starting to realize the reality of it, and it’s not at all ideal given the taste he just had.

He just had an affair with his former high school teacher.

He just cheated on his husband.

It felt fantastic.

Blaine clambers off of Kurt, whose eyes are closed almost as if he’s asleep, and heads for the bathroom to get a damp towel. He checks his reflection in the mirror — disheveled, but altogether no different than he looked before Kurt walked in the door. It’s weird; it feels like _everything’s_  different.

Unfortunately, that’s when the guilt starts to set in, bitter and acidic. Blaine shoves it aside as he returns to Kurt, who has since sat up on the couch and taken his shirt off entirely.

"Somehow, I never seem to realize how messy that is until after it happens," he says with a wry smile. "Thanks for the towel."

"No problem."

"You’re feeling it, aren’t you?" Kurt asks as he cleans up, checking his surroundings. "Guilt? It’s fine if you are."

"Are  _you_?”

"Of course I am."

Blaine hands Kurt’s jeans back to him after pulling his own pants back on. He tucks his shirt in to give his hands something to do while he tries to understand what happens next.

"How long do we have?" Kurt asks, standing up. Blaine glances at the clock on the wall in the kitchen.

"An hour or so."

"Ah. I should probably go, then, let you have some time to recoup."

"Oh."

Kurt nods slowly. “It was good to see you, Blaine. I’m glad that, uh,  _this_  happened.”

Blaine makes a small noise of agreement; he knows he’d have regretted not doing exactly what he’s been wanting to do for years when the opportunity arose. However, now he knows what those colors look like, how they are all in some way very much Kurt. Daniel’s a nice guy, he could live happily with him into old age, but at the cost of that life being made up of faded hues.

"Oh, and I will definitely be buying this place. Just so you know."

"Good, good." Blaine walks with Kurt towards the door, where they pause. "Is this really it?"

Kurt sighs. “We don’t have a choice, do we? You’re married and moving out. Even if the marriage doesn’t work out, you’ll be in a city full of single men. Just let me be a good memory, alright?”

How can he argue that? Blaine gives Kurt a sad smile, says, “Alright. Enjoy the house.”

"Thank you, for everything."

Blaine’s about to ask what he could possibly have done for Kurt, but he lets the question die out in the back of his mind along with  _I think I love you_. Because that’s just crazy, right? “You’re welcome.”

Kurt darts in for a quick kiss that catches the corner of Blaine’s mouth. “One for the road,” he explains, then he waves and Blaine waves back and he’s gone.

By the time Daniel has returned from work, Blaine has his ring back on (it doesn’t burn as much as he thought it would, though that isn’t to say it doesn’t burn at all) and his expression perfectly arranged to suggest that nothing out of the ordinary happened.

A week or so later, they make the final drive to their new home. As usual, it’s a quiet affair; Blaine listens to his music and stares out the window at the changing scenery. At some point he falls asleep — he wakes up to a city of light and sound.

He’d dreamed of colors; he’d dreamed of Kurt.

 

* * *

 

It wakes weeks to move in and unpack all of his belongings. Kurt mentally cheers when the last box is empty and folded because it means he doesn’t have to go back anymore. It had been hell to go back to his old home every few days knowing exactly why he was leaving in the first place — running away, really.

His life is sort of ruled by guilt and regret at this point, though. Might as well get used to those colors eventually.

Kurt grabs an empty notebook and a pen and settles himself on the couch, reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He plans to embark on the next stage of moving into this cozy-but-drab place: color. He looks around the living room and decides it should be made up of warm, dark, comfortable tones. He’ll move the painting to his bedroom; he wants that memory there, anyway.

He wants to keep good memories close, even if most of them come with their own packages of guilt and regret.

After jotting down a few notes about the kitchen, guest room, and bathroom, Kurt yawns — he begins to drift off, glasses slipping precariously down his nose and threatening to fall off. He manages a single line about the laundry room (more of a closet than anything) before his pen tumbles out of his grip. He closes his eyes, perfectly willing to let himself fall asleep this time.

Unfortunately, a knock at the door jerks him awake and sends the notebook falling noisily to the floor. Kurt swears and leaps up to hurry towards the door, ready to be less than polite because  _god_  it is eleven at night and he is not in the mood right now. He opens the door — and ends up face-to-face with Blaine “Johnson” Anderson.

A glance down tells him that the “Johnson” bit is definitely still applicable, but that only serves to confuse him further.

"Hi," he says, smiling despite his confusion. "Did you guys forget something?"

"No, no, I’m, uh," Blaine stammers, looking down. He glances back up at Kurt through his eyelashes. It’s a  _really_  good look for him. “I’m here by myself. I told Daniel I’m seeing family.”

"What—" Kurt huffs, pulling Blaine inside and closing the door. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"Being happier." Blaine levels his gaze, his eyes bright chips of amber even in the little light Kurt had bothered to turn on. "I’m thinking about divorce."

"You can’t be serious right now."

"You’re right, I should be with someone that gives my life some color," Blaine says, maintaining steady eye contact that sort of feels like it’ll turn Kurt into jelly. Damn him. "It’ll be a long process, but it’ll be worth it."

"I see. So, are there any city boys you have your eye on or is it too soon to be looking?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"I don’t need to be looking for anyone if there’s you."

The guilt is still heavy in his chest, but Kurt lets himself give in to the urge to kiss Blaine soundly, heart leaping when Blaine responds near instantly. It takes next to no time for them to make their way to the bedroom, which is when Kurt for some reason finds the need to say, “I’m putting the painting in here.”

"Really?"

Kurt nods. “It’s— Well, it was supposed to be my memory. You just sort of ruined all my plans on that front.”

"I don’t really think I need to apologize for that."

"You really don’t."

They fall onto the bed and Kurt’s guilt falls with him, pleading for him to stop this, but he wants Blaine too much to concede. Somehow, there’s a pull — he can’t help but forget everything else when Blaine’s there, when they’re together. He might not have many experiences like this to draw from in order to come to that conclusion, but it’s apparent nonetheless.

"How long?" Kurt asks, breathless.

"A week. He hates my family, he won’t call them or anything."

"If he hates your family, does that mean I’d probably like them?" Kurt says with a smile.

"You’d hate my dad," Blaine mumbles, undressing himself and Kurt. "You’d like my mom and older brother, though."

"Older brother?"

"Trust me, you know him. But let me blow you before we get into that."

Blaine insists on using a condom, but Kurt barely notices — on the contrary, he’s not sure whether it’s just that it’s  _Blaine_  or what; he soon comes embarrassingly quickly for someone of his age and experience level (gay bar pickups mostly, though none recent).

"Oh my god, I’m so sorry," he groans, sitting up. "Let me—"

However, Blaine already has a hand on himself; before Kurt can get another word out, he’s coming, his shout muffled into Kurt’s hip. After coming down, Blaine crawls up the bed and flops onto his back at Kurt’s side.

"It’s a good thing we have a week," Blaine says, turning to look at Kurt. "As amazing as it was to suck your dick, I think I need to do it a few more times just to make sure it’s always that amazing."

"Do you always talk nonsense after you come?" Kurt asks dryly. Blaine laughs.

"Guess you’ll have to find out."

"So, divorce, huh?" Kurt says after a few minutes of some of the easiest silence he’s had with anyone. Blaine nods next to him, taking a deep breath.

"I know it’ll suck," he says quietly. "I’m not looking forward to it."

"Are you going to tell him about this?"

Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand and rubs along his knuckles with his thumb. “Yeah, I will. I don’t know when. No matter how I do it, I’ll be the asshole of the situation. And I deserve it.”

Kurt doesn’t deny it, but he does say, “I’m sorry.”

"For what?"

"For letting you turn into a cheater." He doesn’t know Blaine that well, really, only truly knows the guy he was at seventeen — but Blaine’s no cheater by character. The moment this comes out, though, he’ll be seen as nothing else by the people that know and side against him.

Blaine scoffs gently. “It was just as much my decision as yours.”

"Still. I played a part, I should take some responsibility. It’s not like I didn’t know you were married."

"Mm. Just this week, then," Blaine says. "We’ll have this week to really get to know each other, then I’ll go home and get everything worked out before I come back to you."

"Who’s to say I won’t lose my sparkle? Divorce takes a while."

"Sparkle?"

"I own a bedazzler. Sparkle is part of the package, here."

Blaine laughs, deep, and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you’ll lose your sparkle. Not for me, anyway.”

"I don’t know, Blaine. I’m an old man. I’m almost  _thirty_.”

"I’m afraid a five-year difference won’t deter me at this point. Come on, Kurt, what do you say?"

Kurt bites back further dry remarks and nods. “Alright. But don’t let me hold you back from someone else in the meantime.”

"But—"

"Experiment in the city, please, when you’re able. You can’t live in New York and not take some time to meet a few boys, even if they’re all wrong in the end."

"…Okay."

"It’s settled, then. One week."

Blaine smiles. “One week.”

They spend as much time outside the bedroom as inside as the week progresses after that, most of that time spent cooking, talking, and going on casual coffee dates in Columbus. The tiny part of Kurt hoping to lose interest in Blaine as he learns more about him (and about living with him) is quickly disappointed; so much for that. But a bigger part of Kurt is happier than he’s ever been, desperate for Blaine to stay forever even though it’s impossible for now.

That bigger part starts to think that maybe he’s falling in love. Kurt never says it — there are too many current variables that could render it obsolete — but he knows it’s there. Whether Blaine feels the same way, well, he thinks he might. It’s a lot of color for one week, pulses of those bright primary hues interspersed with calmer ones.

Their parting at the end of the week is almost as quiet and stilted as the first one some weeks before, but Blaine kisses him sweetly in place of a goodbye and Kurt finds himself okay with that. Even if all of this comes to nothing for him, he hopes for Blaine to find his colors. He deserves that.

 

* * *

 

Months pass. Kurt keeps the painting in his bedroom and glances up at it every so often when he’s reading in bed. He doesn’t visit any bars, telling himself it’s because he needs to focus on job hunting so he doesn’t drain the money from his dad for nothing. And, okay, it _is_  partly for that reason — but not entirely.

He manages to get all the painting and redecorating finished, in the meantime. It’s nice to do something artistic even if it’s purely for his own eyes and no one else’s — maybe that makes it better, giving himself some color when it feels like it’s fading, wearing out. Really, only one thing besides that activity has ever managed to make him feel as colorful as he once did, and his initials are B.A. Well, B.J.

Kurt snorts. He totally did Blaine a favor even if it’s just prompting him to get his name fixed.

Another month passes, and Kurt has yet to find a job or hear from Blaine. They hadn’t exchanged numbers in order for them to truly keep apart while the whole mess is in progress. The last thing Blaine would have needed was a text from Kurt that Daniel somehow saw. Yikes.

Finally, there’s a knock at the door while Kurt’s slicing tomatoes for a sandwich. He really doesn’t expect it to be anything special — going almost a year without hearing anything starts to wear on expectations no matter how hard he tries to believe that Blaine’ll return. But it’s definitely Blaine, and it’s Blaine with a bouquet and no ring.

"Honey, I’m home," he sings, eyes tired but bright as ever. "Before you say anything, yes, I’ve experimented, but I really believe that the only person I can find my colors with is you. So I’m back and ready to be happier for good, if you’ll still have me?"

Kurt grins, enveloping Blaine in a hug. “Of course I will.”

Blaine squeezes, swaying them together. “I have something else,” he mumbles. Kurt pulls back but keeps him in his space. “I have an apartment in the city. If you’re not too tied down here, I’d like you to move in with me? Not right away, if you don’t want. But someday.”

"Someday sounds perfect," Kurt hums, his teen self’s dreams coming back in full force even if he hasn’t sung in front of an audience since… a really long time ago. "Someday soon."

Blaine spins him into the kitchen; Kurt laughs, cheeks pink. “It looks like you were in the middle of something.”

"I was in the middle of making a boring dinner for one."

"Make it a colorful dinner for two? I’ll help."

Kurt bites his lip and nods. “Of course.”

After all, color just makes life better. Kurt has proof of that right in front of him, in honey-bright eyes and smooth olive skin and that ridiculously cute navy polka-dot bow tie. He thinks he’ll never be able to have words for all the colors that Blaine’s managed to bring back to him; he hopes to have Blaine long enough at least to discover them all. Maybe forever.


End file.
